


How To Get A [Demon/Angel] In One Easy Step

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Awkward Flirting, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bad Flirting, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Flirting, Happy Ending, Mismatched expectations, Misunderstandings, Nesting, Other, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26279326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: It is a little-known fact that the courting habits of angels and demons are really quite different. This is little-known because neither angels nor demons particularly make a habit of courting. It's slightly more common amongst demons, actually, but that just means that you really don't want to know the details.Of course, angels and demons never court one another. With one exception.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 301





	How To Get A [Demon/Angel] In One Easy Step

**Author's Note:**

> ....oh, hey, canon-verse! Who knew!
> 
> Inspired by a broad array of metas, and just wanting them to be adorable. Communication, apparently, remains my kink.

Aziraphale smiled as he unwrapped the new blanket. It was a lovely deep red, and would go just perfectly on Crowley's side of the sofa. Of course, he already had a blanket there, but that was getting on a bit. Crowley's bum may have been narrow, but it  _was_ planted in that same spot for quite a lot of nights in the last seventy-odd years. There was 'comfortably worn' (a descriptor that didn't  _not_ apply to Aziraphale, even he would admit to that), and there was 'getting threadbare and not worthy'. Which meant replacement time, which meant a quick jaunt to John Lewis.

He'd picked up a few other useful things too, of course. Some wineglasses, just to have clean ones on hand. A pillow for the easy chair tucked away even deeper in the corner, where they had both been known to nap. A rather jolly-looking mug with a funny cartoon devil on it that he thought Crowley might appreciate. And, finally, a rather pretty set of wind chimes that he carefully hung by the window. That there were no breezes in this corner of the shop – indeed, the windows had never been opened since Aziraphale had bought the place – was of little matter. There were pretty crystal bits that caught the light and sparkled, and it was a little bit of colour amidst the more muted tones Aziraphale loved. Crowley liked colour, and it was awfully pretty, Aziraphale thought to himself as he admired the effect.

Satisfied, he adjusted the blanket once more to have just the right level of inviting rumple, set Crowley's new mug out where he could see it, and settled in the easy chair with a book and, miraculously, a steaming cup of tea. Crowley, who had mumbled something about errands, would be back for dinner.

“ _Aaaangel_!” Crowley, who was an excellent demonstrator of the Doppler effect, wandered in through the front door with his usual call. Not that Aziraphale much stirred from the bookshop, if he was at home, but it never hurt to check.

“Back here, dear,” Aziraphale called, and gave Crowley's new blanket a little twitch, just to keep it looking fresh and warm and welcoming.

“'m home,” Crowley announced unnecessarily, as he made his way into the little nook, hips swaying more than usual. Aziraphale thought his trousers might be a bit tighter than normal as well, and took a moment to be grateful for his own roomy trousers and, frankly, the ability for either of them to be sexless at will. Tucking was _such_ a bother.

“Good day, dear?” he asked, tilting his face up for a kiss and practically wriggling already, he was so excited for Crowley to discover all the nifty new things just for him.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Crowley said, before delivering the kiss, his hand soft on Aziraphale's cheek, thumb just touching under his eye. Sometimes they played a little bit at being a particular kind of human, the dashing midcentury stereotype that Crowley sometimes fancied himself. Aziraphale was more than happy to play the adoring wife in these moments; a few seconds where they were _deeply_ human. Well, close enough, at least. 

“A few wiles to keep my hand in. Humans really do love a good temptation, don't they?” He draped himself on the sofa next to Aziraphale, limbs sprawling over his new blanket, and Aziraphale gave a happy little wiggle to see him using it.

“I couldn't possibly say,” he said cheerfully, and was about to offer a cup of tea or cocoa in Crowley's new mug, when instead he got a demon oozing over him.

That was the only word for it. For the way Crowley's limbs curled and moved in impossible ways, the better to plaster himself around Aziraphale. Who certainly wasn't  _complaining_ at getting a lap-ful of beloved, but he did always feel a bit awestruck a how Crowley could get quite, well, a  _firm_ cuddle on.

The kissing couldn't be beat, mind, even if he had to gently ask Crowley to squeeze a little less hard at one point, as he rather liked his corporation able to breathe.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said, and he looked it, a little sad as he gentled his hold, and Aziraphale kissed him extra; tender and sweet.

“It's all right, love. Everything's tickety-boo,” he said, and smiled when Crowley visibly winced. “Do you like the new blanket? I thought it rather suited your end of the sofa.”

Crowley looked up, a little startled, and squinted. “Oh, er, yes, of course. Lovely. Thank you, Aziraphale,” he added politely, and then it was back to kissing, and Aziraphale wasn't...miffed, exactly. He had his own dear, handsome demon in his lap, making out enthusiastically, and now not squeezing Aziraphale too tightly. But, well. He had worked hard to make this space so lovely and inviting! He just wished Crowley...appreciated it.

Crowley did appreciate it, Aziraphale reminded himself. Just showed it differently. Different was good. And he slid his fingers over Crowley's short-cropped hair, so short it was fuzzy, and kissed him even more.

Crowley itched in his skin. Not like when he had to shed, because he wasn't really a snake exactly, and he'd only shed once for the experience. It had been weird, and overall he preferred going to a hammam and getting a good scrub-down. But he itched because he  _needed_ .

Not like that – they were both cheerfully asexual, with no particular interest in anything beyond kisses and caresses. Aziraphale didn't even have  _genitals_ , and had precisely zero interest in picking out a set to take for a spin. Hells, he was only a  _he_ from long habit, a thing Crowley had a lot of respect for.

(Being around Aziraphale and his agender-ness was peaceful. Not that Crowley felt drawn in that particular direction, but it was a nice balancing act, he thought. There was him with all the genders, and Aziraphale with none, and they loved each other. It was nice.)

But, right. Going back to the itchiness, the  _yearning_ , he finally named it. Need to touch.  _Now_ . So he tossed his phone aside and went to find Aziraphale, to curl around him and show how much he loved him, how much Aziraphale mattered, how Crowley was going to wrap around him and never, ever, ever let go, protect him and be his best friend and love him.

Aziraphale was in the bookshop proper, shelving some new acquisitions. The shop was closed of course, to permit plenty of time for this fussy operation. Which meant Crowley had zero compunctions about leaving his sunglasses off and also coming up behind Aziraphale and resting his head heavily atop the angel's, hugging him tightly around the chest.

That Aziraphale was three feet off the ground on a small stepladder made no difference; Crowley just expected to be able to stand at the proper height, and so he did.

“Good afternoon, dear boy,” Aziraphale said warmly, of course holding his balance, because both he and Crowley expected to. “Good day?”

“Lovely,” Crowley mumbled. _God_ , he was good. Just a fucking Casanova over here. He could wrap his legs around Aziraphale's hips and just be the best boyfriend of all time. Aziraphale would never, ever doubt he was loved, not with Demon Crowley on the job.

“Delightful.” Aziraphale patted his hand. “Only, my dear – would you be so good as to fix a pot of tea? I'll be done here in just a moment.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, feeling unaccountably rejected. “Sure, angel, anything you like.” He really shouldn't pout; tea presaged sitting on the sofa, which presaged a good cuddle where Crowley got to wrap around Aziraphale and get hugged back, their bodies twining together.

And only get told a few times that he was squeezing a bit too hard.

Possibly his brilliant Casanova tactic wasn't as brilliant as he thought.

Crowley pondered this as he set the kettle on, and ignored how his skin itched, how he felt hollow. Sad. It was fine, had had no reason to feel this way, it was  _fine_ . 

Because Aziraphale had asked, and it was what one did when in emotional turmoil, he made a lovely pot of tea, and poured out their mugs. Aziraphale's winged cup, of course, and the silly demon-mug he'd bought for Crowley. It did make him smile, he had to give Aziraphale that. It was cheesy as hell, mind, but that just made it...extra Aziraphale-ish, really. The only thing to improve it would have been in if there was a chintz motif somehow involved.

“Oh, thank you my dear.” Aziraphale had emerged, only a slight bit more dusty. He took his mug from Crowley with a blissful smile, sipping deep of the strong brew.

“Y'r welcome,” Crowley mumbled, and dropped onto the sofa, feeling hollow until – well, the blanket that was just his helped a little, maybe, but then Aziraphale settled beside him, back straight, legs bent perfectly to ninety degrees and held one arm out...

Crowley was across the sofa like a shot, snuggling, sighing, relaxing immediately as he wrapped a leg over top of Aziraphale's lap and did something impossible with his shoulder joint to fit his arm behind his back, head on his shoulder, getting that good, perfect, wonderful, comforting touch.

“My dear, what's wrong?” Aziraphale asked gently.

“Nothin',” Crowley mumbled, which was true. In that moment nothing at all was wrong.

“Did you see the new wind chimes I added?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. “I think they're quite pretty myself, all rainbows everywhere, when the sun comes out.”

Crowley looked up. “Oh, yeah. 's'nice, Aziraphale.” And went back to squeezing.

“Bit tight there, darling,” Aziraphale said, and he sounded...sad? Not quite sad. _Let down_. Fuck. Fuck. What had Crowley done wrong? How was he fucking this up? Unconsciously he squeezed harder, needing Aziraphale to know how loved he was.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said suddenly. “Oh, my very dear. I've...made terrible assumptions.”

“What?” Crowley bit his lip and refused to look up. “About what?”

Aziraphale shook his head and sighed. “Oh, I'm going about this terribly. Let me try something?”

“...sure?”

Aziraphale set his cup of tea aside, and wrapped his arms around Crowley and  _squeezed_ .

Crowley's brain exploded. Not really, but that was basically the sensation. He was loved loved loved LOVED, utterly loved, Aziraphale wanted him, wanted to kiss and caress and take care of him and be pursued and they could spend all their time wrapped around one another with maybe a break once a week for a meal, and Aziraphale _loved him_. Sure, he'd known that, he wasn't dumb, but now Aziraphale super-definitely-no-question loved him.

“Whaaahingh?” he managed, when Aziraphale let go, and he automatically relaxed too, still snuggled close, just...softer.

“I thought so,” Aziraphale said. “You don't really care that there's a new decoration, do you? Or a blanket, or that I found an old globe I thought you might like, and it's sitting within arm's reach?”

“...it's not that I don't care,” Crowley said. “You're really... _nice_ to me,” he managed, forcing the word out. 

Aziraphale smiled. “Didn't notice, rather?”

“Er, no. I'm sorry, angel.”

“It's all right.” Aziraphale kissed him, and okay, on this, _this_ , they were at their best. Soft. Meeting in the middle, the way they always had. “We're just...different.”

“Bad different?” Crowley asked sadly.

“No. But I have to learn how to make you happy.” Aziraphale said. “And it's not building a nest, although I should say that's made _me_ quite happy, to build you a soft, pretty place.”

Crowley's heart did a funny thing. “You're doing this for me?”

“Of course. I want you to feel welcome and comfortable here. To know you're very – well, that I care for you very much,” Aziraphale said, a little shy himself now. “To give you beautiful things to use and look at and enjoy.”

“But all I want, all I need, is you,” Crowley said.

“Yes, I'm figuring that out,” Aziraphale agreed. “You court like a snake, don't you?”

“I do not!” Crowley protested. “Would a snake take you to the Criterion?”

“No, but it would put its head rather heavily atop mine. I've been doing some reading, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled bashfully. “Well, technically I attended a lecture in 1867, but the idea is the same. When you're squeezing the life out of me, that's er. Well. Foreplay. Isn't it?”

“It's a good thing we don't couple, you are just the _best_ at killing the romance,” Crowley grumbled. “Also yes.”

Aziraphale pumped his fist a little, and Crowley died inside. He could have fallen for a  _sexy demon who lived to be sexy._ But no, his heart had taken one look at the dweebiest angel ever to exist, who had given his sword away so the humans would survive, and who was always afraid he wasn't doing the right thing, and had gone oh right yes this is the one for us. And now he was in love with a being who punched the air in the most restrained manner possible.

“A-ha!” Aziraphale said, and tapped his nose, and Crowley died inside. Again. What was _wrong_ with him? His heart was all soft and melty, it was the actual worst. “I've got you now,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “Here we both are, just courting away as hard as we can, but we don't _recognise_ it. That's our problem.”

“We have a problem?” Crowley asked, hurt. He thought they'd been going rather well, actually.

“Well, no. Perhaps that's the wrong word.” Aziraphale considered his words for a moment. “Miscommunication. I've been hurting you dreadfully when I ask you to hug gently, or I push you away, haven't I?”

“...not _dreadfully_ ,” Crowley said, mimicking Aziraphale's plummy tones.

“But it's still a rejection?” Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley made careful eye contact with the floor. “You don't mean to.”

“That's a yes.” Aziraphale sighed. “I am so sorry.”

“Oi! You don't have anything to be sorry for!” Crowley said hotly, looking up. “You're fine. You're great. You're bloody perfect, and you didn't know and I just _assumed_ \--”

Aziraphale held up a hand. “Easy. Breathe.”

“What? We don't need to breathe,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and Crowley guessed that really, when you got down to it, they deserved each other. “Calm down, then, and accept my bloody apology already, will you?”

“Uh. Sure?” Crowley shook his head. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good.” Aziraphale smiled at him. “And you don't care at all about all the new things I've put here, do you?”

I care!” Crowley paused a moment. He'd never, not once, lied to Aziraphale. And he wasn't  _lying_ exactly, just...not using all of the possible words he could use. “I don't, um, always notice. Is all. I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Aziraphale said triumphantly, and Crowley could have dropped him in a ditch. “There we are, air cleared, and we both understand a bit better.” He smiled, and stood. “Come with me, my dear, I want to try something.”

“...okay.” Crowley stood too, of course. Where Aziraphale went, he followed. It was quite simple, really.

This time, though, Aziraphale took his hand and led him up to the bedroom that had appeared one day. It was a cozy space, not  _too_ cluttered, and Crowley saw to his shame that it was meant to be his nest. A big soft bed with quilts and duvets and pillows. Pretty books full of botanical illustrations lay scattered about, and there was even a Boston fern in a shady corner by the window that was trying its very best. Everything was textured and lush, and although Aziraphale couldn't quite give up the tartans and rather old-fashioned wallpaper, he'd at least tried for some darker colours.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said softly. “I've been dreadful to you.”

“You have not, stop it,” Aziraphale said. “This isn't an excuse to self-flagellate, I won't permit it.” He paused. “Nor are you to take it out on our fern.”

“ _Our_ fern?” Crowley asked, eyeing the thing in the corner.

“Our fern. His name is Winston, and you are to be nice to him,” Aziraphale said, sitting and taking off his shoes. “Into bed, please.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you're an old romantic?” Crowley said, bemused. He turned his shoes back into his feet – handy that – and lay on one side.

“Yes, actually. Byron,” Aziraphale said very prissily, and Crowley was so delighted at seeing his bitchy side, he even stopped teasing for the moment.

“You've given me ever so much, darling. You reached out, over and over again. I expect it's past time I did something like this for you,” Aziraphale said when he lay down, and Crowley was about to protest when he was very gently pulled into Aziraphale's arms, a hold he could break without a second thought.

Not that he'd want to, ever. Especially not when he was pulled so his back was to Azirpahale's belly – oh, and wasn't that the softest, nicest feeling? – and Aziraphale's chin rested atop his head. His arms tightened around Crowley's chest slowly, feeling his way to what would be good for both of them, and his head grew heavier.

And Crowley's brain  _turned inside out_ . Oh, he was the belle of the ball, the queen bee, all of his Casanova moves had worked  _yes_ he was the  _best serpent_ . He was winning at life, no one was as good as him look at him  _getting fucking squeezed._ A fucking happy little snakey family, him and Aziraphale, who had, in an action so free and easy Crowley couldn't even imagine it on his body, slung a heavy leg over Crowley's hip.

“Is this all right, darling?” he asked. “You're being very quiet.”

“ _Hnnnnghhh,_ ” Crowley said. “Ngk. Sorry. Words. Good. So good. So sososososo good.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale said, relief evident in his voice. “You just let me hold you a good long while then, yes? I think we're past due.”

“Aunghh,” Crowley said, eyes rolling back into his head. “You. Okay?”

“I am, actually,” Aziraphale said, surprise evident in his voice. “This is very peaceful. And of course I always love to touch you, dearest. And this room is quite cozy.”

“It is,” Crowley said. Words needed to be _said_. “It's a perfect nest. Thank you.”

“You're quite welcome,” Aziraphale said warmly, and squeezed Crowley and he only passed out a _little_. Hardly noticeable at all, really.

A week later, Crowley strode into the shop with some rather large bags. “Don't come up, angel!” he called over one shoulder. He jogged up the spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time, and Aziraphale genuinely feared for his continued bodily health, given how he walked normally. But luck was with the demon, and he ascended with only minor bends to the laws of physics. A few minutes later there was the distinct sound of things in the bedroom moving about, and packages being ripped open.

Hm. Interesting. And...soothing. Crowley was taking care of their bedroom, and Aziraphale therefore felt rather taken care of himself. Of course Crowley didn't  _neglect_ him – far from it! Aziraphale was quite spoiled, when you came down to it. But it was with things to eat or places to go and see; the bookshop had previously been wholly his domain, just like Crowley's flat had been  _his_ .

Feeling a little warm and wobbly in his belly – in the best of ways – Aziraphale turned back to his book, and ignored the polite tapping at the door. His opening hours were  _clearly_ labelled for all to see, thank you very much.

The mysterious noises from upstairs continued for some time, often changing timbre and tone, and then fading away to quiet.

Some time after that, when Aziraphale was starting to feel a bit peckish, Crowley came trotting back downstairs, looking entirely pleased with himself. “What d'you fancy for dinner, angel? Anywhere you want, you pick.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale flushed a bit, always made giddy by this. “Would you be averse to sushi? Only it's been some time.” It had, in fact, been a week, but that was _plenty_ of time, really.

“Lovely,” Crowley said, and slipped on his sunglasses and held out his arm. “Walk or drive?”

“It's such a lovely evening,” Aziraphale said, feeling already a little drunk from Crowley's flirtations. “Let's walk. My dear, whatever were you doing upstairs?” he finally asked, as they left the shop.

“Oh, good, I just wanted to enquire about a volume in your window–” a man on the stoop said. Aziraphale ignored him, of course – very important, to keep work at _work_. Wouldn't do to destroy a work-life balance, once one'd got one in place.

“S'not for sale, mate,” Crowley offered helpfully as they sailed away, quickly getting lost in the bustle of the London streets.

Dinner was simply  _sublime_ , with the best omakase Aziraphale could remember, ice-cold sake to chase it down, and of course Crowley's intensely enjoyable companionship.

(A true romantic might have said that Crowley's friendship and conversation were even better than the sushi. And Aziraphale was very much a romantic, but he was also a connoisseur of sushi. Besides, no one was asking.)

Loosened up by good food and drink, they walked the long way home hand-in-hand, quite enjoying the city that hadn't changed so very much; not really. The heart of it was still there, centuries upon centuries on, and it was a great comfort to them both.

Aziraphale gave a happy little wiggle as they entered the shop – now un-accosted at the door, the potential customer having given up and gone to one of Aziraphale's competitors, unaware that that gentleman was just as eccentric, if not more so.

“Right this way, angel,” Crowley said grandly, leading him up, well, his _own staircase_ , all right, but it was the _theatricality_ that mattered as he offered his arm at the head of the stairs and elegantly escorted Aziraphale to his bedroom.

“Oh, my dear boy!” For the room was – not quite transformed. Such a radical change wouldn't have been welcome, as well Crowley knew. But there was a gorgeous new duvet cover of deep blue velvet, edged all about with gold embroidery. If Aziraphale noticed the snake motif, though, he said nothing. And there were new pillows in deep browns and golds; Aziraphale's colours, but made deeper and jewel-like, made to seem warmer and cosier. 

There were a few other touches too – lead crystals hanging in the windows and promising dancing rainbows on the next sunny day. A lovely sculpture of white marble, a little maquette of two young men at rest. And, of course, by the easy chair next to the fireplace, a lovely great box of chocolates from Aziraphale's favourite shop. There was a fire roaring away, or at least the illusion of one, and his slippers were already warming near the hearth. It was a room impossible to not be comfortable in.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, turning around and taking it all in. “What a wonderful, perfect, lovely nest. Did you really do all this for me?”

“Well, I'm hoping to share the bed,” Crowley said, with an inappropriate eyebrow waggle. “But yes. Of course it's for you.” More quietly. “I love you.”

“Oh, dearest.” Aziraphale turned and held out his arms, and gathered Crowley close. “I love you too. Come and lie down.” 

Crowley bounced onto the bed, watching Aziraphale move about the room, pausing to caress the crystals a moment before he removed his boots and his jacket, making himself comfortable, the busy day drawing to a close.

“D'you want to sit by the fire some? Eat chocolates? I'm all right,” Crowley said from his sprawl.

“Perhaps later, or tomorrow. Thank you for the chocolate, by the way.” Aziraphale hesitated, and smiled over his shoulder. “Well, perhaps _one_. I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful.”

“Aziraphale, I got them for you to enjoy,” Crowley said gently. There was a time for teasing, and there was a time for not. Now was a time for not. “Please, eat.”

“I most certainly will, dearest.” Aziraphale opened the box and admired the assortment, before picking one and biting into it, head tilting back with obvious pleasure. “Oh _scrummy_. My dear, you must have one – no, I insist. Here, I know you don't like very sweet things.” He picked up a square of lovely dark chocolate, and brought it over to the bed. And held it to Crowley's lips, and what else was there to do but nibble at it, and enjoy the bitter-rich flavour on his tongue. And enjoy more how it melded with the sweet milk chocolate and walnut in Aziraphale's mouth.

They tumbled into bed, and Crowley wrapped tight around Aziraphale, his heart going sort of wobbly in a wonderful way when Aziraphale went easy and soft in his arms. His angel relaxed...almost never, as far as Crowley could tell. If he could relax and rest here, in Crowley's snake-grip, inside his little nest, oh, that would be worth everything.

“Oh, this is _delightful_ , my dearest,” Aziraphale said, tucking his head under Crowley's chin while Crowley's brain lit itself on fire. 

“Uh huh,” he managed. “'s...great,” he said, groping for a word to express just how happy he was and failing entirely. “You're great,” he offered, his on-fire brain apparently now reduced to a vocabulary of about ten words.

“And you're absolutely wonderful yourself, darling,” Aziraphale chattered on, a soft, warm presence totally held in Crowley's arms, as tight as Crowley liked. “I mean it. You've given me the most delightful evening, and I adore my nest. Are you quite comfortable here as well?”

“Uh huh,” Crowley said, and tried to make more words. “'m...good. Really good. Promise.”

“That's all right then,” Aziraphale said with a happy sigh, and he went even more soft in Crowley's arms, somehow.

And that is how angels and demons learned to court one another. Well, one angel and one demon, anyway. And since they're the only ones who've ever wanted to court one another, it all worked out for the best, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


End file.
